Predictable
by Celrevia
Summary: In which, Hiwatari Satoshi ponders Niwa Daisuke, earrings, and exactly how life is. Slight shounen-ai implications and angst please R+R


Author Note: My mind has been nagging at me to write something, anything, D N Angel for a while. And here it is. Yes, it's very strange and out of character and could probably use a bit of tweaking around with but it's here. And I'm not going to change it. 

Disclaimer: D N Angel, sadly, does not belong to me. I'm just a poor by-stander.

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Predictable

You're very predictable Niwa. Very, very predictable indeed. In fact, everything about you is predictable, everything about us is predictable.

It started easily enough; a few nights, a few lies, failed attempts to catch you. The nights are just too short, the days much too long and it sucks us in. Killing us with a few words and a promise to catch you one night, under the moon in the darkness that surrounds our souls. Did you know?

It's a never-ending war; a war I'd love to end, and yet, a war I'd hate to end.

You're a frail thing; a quivering flame against winter storms, a rabbit amongst wolves that'd love, I'm sure, to rip you apart and devour you. 

But those wolves, they don't want you as much as _I_ want you. I want you more than anything, the hunger, and the need to catch and have you, keep you. Keep you for a few minutes, a few hours, and have you under my protections because owning you, is like salvation. Owning you, that'd be my one wish in life, and I wonder, if it's just too much.

Owning anything can be just that, just too much. 

When I was very young, my mother had a pair of exquisite earrings, they were made out of red glass. In the start of my adolescence we, as in my father, mother and I, were never truly rich. My cold, aloof, beautiful, mother never had the money for real rubies. She could, however buy a pair of cheap glass earrings, stained a beautifully deep red. 

The seller had told us, that it was the best workmanship of glass he'd ever seen. That it may have well as been made of the real crystalline ruby that my mother hungered for. They were pretty, the red didn't penetrate completely through the glass, and they dangled on a thin bronze chain that was attacked to the little bronze stud you'd fixate in your ear. 

My mother was proud, and scoffed at it, noticing that the sun would shine through it and dye her pale skin crimson, like the blood that should but wasn't in her. She laughed at how it was made of such cheap quality metal, at how the edges of the glass were not perfectly cut and how the red never stained completely through, how the blood never reached the heart.

She bought them anyway, she needed the assurance of the crystalline beauty. She needed to know the beauty of such a small little thing, she had no other assurances in the world. Her life was meaningless, she was just another puppet as were all her line before her.

After a year, we were better off. 

Richer, we were able to afford things like a new house with beautiful windows and tiled floors. 

My mother bought me a pair of glasses, to hide my eyes, she said, because you have to hide who you are. She no longer needed the glass earrings and tossed them out to wear real diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires.

But I still needed them.

I kept them in my mind, watched her throw them away into a tin trashcan with contempt and a promise to never own anything that wasn't perfect. I listened to the snap of glass breaking against the bottom of the trashcan; the shattering sound of glass against tin, blood, against skin. As she, my caretaker, the ice pillar that gave me birth and told me of my namesake, walked away with her head held high and the dimming light in her eyes mirrored by the red glass earring. 

I knew why she had really thrown them away, they showed her weakness. Her aging weakness and failing health that taunted her strong soul. A soul, already that much closer to being snuffed out.

I sneaked back to the little can of tin and reached down. I reached, my arms falling just a little too short, and grabbed hoping that my broken treasure would fall into my young grasp.

I was naïve then; I reached down and pierced myself on the broken shards of red glass and watched as cuts appeared and unknown life poured out of the wounds. 

I didn't tell her, I kept it a secret. She'd be mad if she knew I kept something that was meant to be gone and done and never spoken of ever again.

I bandaged my own hands, she rarely looked my way anymore as her health was failing and her cruel, cold, eyes often did not open or opened only to reveal misty white. My secret and I were safe and another's health was of none of my concern. My health to her was none of her concern. My family was as cold as its name, as cold as the ice that threaded through our veins and seeped into our hearts to lock off the sins that were hidden. 

I remember, after tending my wounds that I had looked at the earrings, or what were left. One earring was whole, still almost perfect with its clear vermilion glow and soft edges. I had rubbed it against my cheek, feeling the soft smoothness of glass and the brightness from the rays of sun that hit it's surface and rebounded, as if on a clear prism, to dapple the white-washed room I was in a warm red. The other earring was broken in half; jagged pieces stuck out and were painful to look at and touch. I kept the two pieces. I kept the earrings until all was suddenly lost.

The beginning of the loss was when my mother died. I did not care, I had been six at the time and was emotionless as I am now. I saw them carry her cold, thin body away. The once beautiful face was translucent and pale with death. 

They sold everything we owned after that.

I knew, from then, that I had to take care of myself. And I did, I promised myself I wouldn't feel the warmth that seeped through dangerously from the look of pity on everyone's face. Instead, I watched the glass of the earrings, swirling in the breeze.

And then everything started between us. It sounds like some dirty affair when I say it in that way, but it's not. No matter how hard I wish it was.

I had watched you before you were Dark, or Dark was you. You'd be sitting around talking to people, to me, to the twins, to those fools. And I'd watch you ever so patiently, and waited. There was always something special about you. Maybe it was because you had that same crimson glow as in my earrings. After watching you for a day I'd swirl the earrings in my fingers; grasping the stud in-between pointer finger and thumb and twirled it around to watch the splashes of carmine against the hospital-white walls of my apartment. 

They reminded me of your eyes.

Then you turned into Dark, it was all about Dark after that. The predatory way I followed you, watched you, and hunted you... All firmly embedded into my instincts. I know your scent, your tremble, the emotions that flicker over your face. I also know how soft your skin is, how fine your hair is, how warm your breath against the skin of my neck is. 

It's like an aphrodisiac to me. I'm lulled toward you like the beast towards the pray. Like the wolves, I want to devour you.

So, here we are. Standing outside our school in the middle of a thunderous rain of leaves from where that white rabbit-like thing of yours is bouncing around like a kangaroo on caffeine. I detest that rabbit, but only because it gets to spend more time with you.

"What did you want to see me about Hiwatari-san?" Your soft voice breaks through all my senses and I focus on you until it's just you, your smell, your appearance, the sounds of your breathing.

You fidget uncontrollably, something that annoys me is the fact that you have the attention span of a fly. Your hands twiddle idly while your feet scuff together but there's obvious effort on your face to focus on me instead of how nice the sky is, or how much damage that rabbit of yours is inflicting on the tree.

"Happy birthday." I reply non-ceremoniously as I stuff a red-wrapped box into your arms and turn around.

I know that it'll take at least seven minutes and forty-seven seconds for you to process what has just happened, you will most likely spend that time blinking profusely and wondering what is in that box. Dark will most likely make some offhand comment, probably sex-related and very vulgar. You, of course, will flush to about the same color of your hair. Then, you'll open the box and find…

An earring, perfect red glass in a hanging diamond shape dangling on a thin bronze chain with a bronze stud. Dark will insist you wear it because he'll think it looks nice and you'll blush and hopefully, put it on.

Tomorrow, when it's not your birthday, you'll come up to me, and say "Thank you Hiwatari-san" and gently brush your hand against the earring that'll hang from your ear.

I'll nod, look back to my perfect test score and vaguely calculate exactly what percent my grade is better than everyone else's and then, I'll reach into my pocket and touch the other earring, the broken one, and think about how things are.

So you see, Niwa, everything is predictable.

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And you can see that Satoshi-san will most likely kill me for reducing his character to a slightly detached being. Dark will kill me for not putting him in this story much and Daisuke is going to be very confused at why he's even in the story. Krad's too busy attempting to seduce Satoshi to really care.

All reviews are appreciated, muchly. 


End file.
